


Demands for Affection

by OSeiSan



Series: Terminal [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Erotomania, M/M, Minor Violence, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OSeiSan/pseuds/OSeiSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obsessional tendencies has a place on earth, or more so, on Stiles' radar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Timed Soul

**Author's Note:**

> This the first time I'm publishing a #Sterek fanfiction, so please be gentle. This story would disturb some of you, sure not yet, but it will. I promise you. So, I am warning you now, if you're not into the kind of any psychotic story, please refrain yourselves from reading this. Also, this story wouldn't be a slow burn. That is all.

 

_We who are_  
your closest friends  
feel the time  
has come to tell you  
that every Thursday  
we have been meeting,  
as a group,  
to devise ways  
to keep you  
in perpetual uncertainty  
frustration  
discontent and  
torture

_by neither loving you  
as much as you want  
nor cutting you adrift._

_Your analyst is_  
in on it,  
plus your boyfriend  
and your ex-husband;  
and we have pledged  
to disappoint you  
as long as you need us.

_In announcing our_  
association  
we realize we have  
placed in your hands  
a possible antidote  
against uncertainty  
indeed against ourselves.

_But since our Thursday nights_  
have brought us  
to a community  
of purpose  
rare in itself  
with you as  
the natural center,  
we feel hopeful you  
will continue to make unreasonable  
demands for affection  
if not as a consequence  
of your disastrous personality  
then for the good of the collective.

–Phillip Lopate

* * *

Sherriff Stilinski closed his car door as he balanced a pizza carton on his left hand. It was a typical Friday in the Stilinski household and that meant he could get away eating anything unhealthy this dinner. Frankly, it’s the only thing that keeps him going on his healthy diet that his son strictly makes him do. He loves his son but- _Jesus Christ_ -he was only on his early 40’s and a lot of people his age get away with eating anything.

As he walked towards their front door, he checked the time on his watch. It showed 5:34 in the evening and guessing his son must be practicing lacrosse at this minute, he has maybe half or an hour to indulge the whole pizza box then order again when his son gets home. He’s a good liar himself, he could just claim he hasn’t order anything yet. Chuckling at his own idea, he opened the door, sliding through it easily and clumsily locking it behind him.

Sherriff Stilinski proceeded to the kitchen, the pizza box already open and him eating a slice. He dropped the box on the counter, retrieved a glass from the cabinet and poured himself some whiskey. This was the good little things in life, he thought.

Finishing his first slice, he took his jacket off and hang it on the chair he just about to settle in. In moments, he was reading the local newspaper as he sat and indulged on his guilty pleasures. The house was quiet as always, that’s why Sherriff Stilinski never expected something surprising him out of the blue. His guard was down, his mouth busy drinking the whiskey-when he felt big rough hands wrapped around his throat.

His whole body jerked, but whoever was holding him down was fucking strong. His mouth gurgled out the whiskey, nearly impossible with his air being cut out. Sherriff Stilinski struggled some more, getting his attacker off his throat, his chair rocking with force, but it was also starting to take a toll when his air was totally cut out from his brain. His chest heaved, reflexes fighting for him to breath, to live… but only for a second. His body was slowly slammed on the table-his mind trying to figure out why, why him, why now-the only last thing he saw was black leather gloves then darkness.

 

*******

“Thanks for the ride, dude.” Scott called back to him as he started the car heading on his way home. It was a typical Friday, and knowing his father, he needs to get home faster before his father can consume 20 pizza boxes or worse greasy cheese burgers. Going on the fastest shortcut, he got home within 5 minutes. “New World Record for Mr. Stilinski!” he shouted as he jumped out of his car and running to his house. He opened the front door and instantly went to the kitchen.

As he thought, his father had a whole pizza box in front of him and a whiskey bottle on his right hand. His father though was passed out on the dining table, his left hand dangling on the side. Stiles shook his head at the scenario in front of him as he guessed his father had more of the whiskey than the pizza. “Really smooth, Dad.” He said to the sleeping figure. “Don’t expect me to lock the cabinet next Friday, or maybe even tell the pizza place to ban you!”

Laughing he reached over the table as he tried to steal one pizza slice.  He was still smiling when he saw something that made him froze on the spot. His smile slowly turning a frown, as so his face turned pale.

His father wasn’t sleeping. Unless his father knew how to sleep with his eyes open and Stiles would have known if his father was capable of that trick. Stiles would have- _oh god_. Stiles felt his throat tighten, suddenly he can’t breathe. Oh god, he can’t fucking breathe and his father. His father!

“Da-ad.” Stiles choked. _Oh motherfucking god._ Stiles couldn’t believe this, this wasn’t happening, this was a joke, Stiles keep telling himself as he tried to reach for his phone and dial 911. He didn’t know if someone answered but he tried his best to talk. “He-help…”-cough, choke-“dad…”

 

*******

“Stiles, are you really alright?”

_No, he wasn’t._

“Yes, I’m fine.” Stiles calmly answered. He hated this psychiatrist sessions, this was nothing but a bunch of bullshit crap and it’s just so fucking sad that people try to hypnotize you into thinking you’re going to be fine. He hated the way his doctor acts like he understands Stiles’ situation, how optimistic he can be, also he hated the people that knew him and tries to act like it was all O.K. As if he can move on.

It wasn’t alright, fine or O.K.… but he was smart enough not to tell them that. Stiles has closed off from the world, so far he’s concerned. He doesn’t fucking care. He goes to school, goes to Mrs. McCall’s home (where she has taken parental custody), and sneak out in the middle of the night to sleep on his old house. It was still standing and was still under his name because it was his family’s property. According to his father’s will, everything his father owned was now his, but until he reaches the legal age, he has to have a legal guardian and other crap.

Naturally, Stiles doesn’t care. As long as the house was still his, it was good. It may be even the only thing he cares about since his father got murdered-Police claims it wasn’t but Stiles knew better-2 months ago.

“-les. Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” Stiles answered, not even sure if he answered the right thing.

Dr. Swanson sighed as he rubbed two fingers on his right temple. Stiles held back a smirk. The only thing entertaining him as much for these past few days was breaking his psychiatrist’s patience. The man looked over the clock behind Stiles and drew out another long sigh. “O.K. It’s about time-” Stiles was already picking his bag, not listening to whatever that man was talking about “-and see you next week!” Stiles heard as he slammed the door behind him.

He smiled. It was really lovely pushing his psychiatrist’s buttons.

When he finally burst out from the front door of the hospital, he instantly saw Scott waiting for him on the hospital’s parking lot. He jogged to his best friend and exchanged a bit of pleasantries-all fake-before settling himself on the passenger’s seat.

“How was it?” Scott never failed to ask every single time. If Scott can only be this persistent on studying, and not on irritating him, Scott could actually pass his chemistry class.

“It was fine.” Stiles automatically answered every single time Scott asked the question.

Scott nodded, always unsure what to ask next so Stiles has always needed to think of a new topic to talk about. It was their routine now apparently, and Stiles hated every second of it.

“How’s Allison?” Stiles asked and he could swear he saw the atmosphere change inside the car.

“Oh she’s good! Actually-” And this is the part where Stiles’ mind wanders off until they get home.

 

*******

“Scott, can you please eat like a normal person!” Mrs. McCall practically pleaded across the table and Stiles was oblivious to the scene unfolding in front of him as he hurriedly ate his part. It’s not that he hate the McCall’s, he just doesn’t want to see them playing house. He especially doesn’t want to be a part of it. He and his father tried and it was a fucking joke.

Mrs. McCall apparently still noticed him even he tried to be invincible. He gave Mrs. McCall some obvious panic look before finishing his plate, “Stiles, um.” Mrs. McCall started but Stiles didn’t give her enough time to actually think about what she was going to say.

“I’ll be up in my room…” he announced, after doing some incredible plate fast-wash-bending. “… studying.” He finished and ran upstairs. Stiles of course didn’t see Mrs. McCall and Scott sharing significant sad looks before finishing their dinner.

 

*******

Stiles grunted as he landed face down on the McCall’s lawn, he was never the model for stealth but it works when it works. Not waiting for any indication that one of the McCall’s heard him, he ran for his real home. The first time he did it, without the Jeep and all was like a 500 mile run, but now Stiles could only pant as he slid inside his bedroom using the window.

Stiles’ room pretty much looked like it was still being used, no building dusts, it look normally as it did when his father was alive. Sighing like he was finally home, Stiles cleaned up his mess a bit and by clean, meaning he shoved every clothes at the side and made way for his new pile. He was down to his pants when he heard a steady shift on his right, like a foot being shifted simultaneously and when he did look up, what he saw startled the fuck out of him.

With eyes wide, he stumbled and fell clumsily just above his bed and he did so without taking his eyes off from the shadow. A very _big_ shadow. After his little incident, he didn’t dare move. Man, he even thought his body just suddenly turned off like it knew he was immobilized anyway. Drawing a shaky breath, he waited for the inevitable.

The shadow could be anything… but the fact that it totally shaped like a man was unsettling. And it wasn’t moving, like it was waiting for Stiles to shout for help, plead for his life, et cetera. Blinking, Stiles knew he wouldn’t do any of that. If the guy was here to kill him… he was never the suicidal type but he would welcome death like a relative.

After a few moments that didn’t totally felt like hours for Stiles, the shadow decided to move toward him. Stiles tensed and braced his self, as if some villain in a TV show he was watching was being finally revealed. What he saw … well, was confusing.

The guy was totally looking at him cautiously, but not in the _i-don’t-trust-you_ way but in a total hope-you- _don’t-run-even-i-look-a-murderer_ way. Stiles exhaled and stared at his trespasser… and unsurprisingly ended the silence, “Who are you… No. Wait.” Stiles held up a hand, “Totally cliché… Um… What’s your business here?” Stiles tried again.

The man stared at him for a full minute, and before Stiles got tired waiting for a reaction, he answered, “With Stiles…” and grudgingly at that. Stiles guessed the guy barely talked.

“What?” Stiles said, totally confused. “What’s your business with me?” Gesturing his whole body, as if that would emphasize the question but who could blame him? Here was a GQ material guy asking for Stiles. “… and how the hell did you know I’ll be here tonight?” Stiles forehead creased. “Have you been… like… shadowing me?”

“You could say that.” Came the clipped answer.

“I did say it.” Stiles hands started their flailing whenever he started getting exasperated. “But that doesn’t answer my real question. What do you need with me?”

The man opened his mouth to answer but closed his mouth abruptly, as if rethinking his answer. Another hour later-it was 10 seconds really-the man decided to say, “I believe you need something from me.”

Stiles gaped at that. His answers and this scenario was a total skit from every TV shows he loved to watch. Shaking his head, Stiles laid his right hand on his forehead, before asking, “And that would be?”

“Information.” The man answered quickly and hesitated for a second before adding, “I know…”

“…You know?” Stiles encouraged the man, as he gestured with his hands.

“I know who killed your father.” The stranger finished, straightening. And Stiles felt frozen for the second time this year.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Suggestion, Violent Reactions are welcome.
> 
> EDIT [10/25/12]  
> Just updated this for some spelling check.  
> Working on chapter two this weekend.


	2. Exchange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story keeps changing as I write it. Damn it. I'll get there eventually.

 

There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery. 

-         Unknown

* * *

The sky was smoky, an ironic description when the weather was chilly as light rain drips down Stiles’ temples that slid through his ears, his jaw, and then forming on his chin. Stiles’ blinked, his own tears mixing with the rain that painted his face. He stared down his father’s coffin.

 _Back when I was a child_  
Before life removed all the innocence  
My father would lift me high

The choir that was singing-Luther Vandross, really?-under the big tent-that included the rest of the town, sounded muffled. It was either because of the rain or by his own choice but whatever it was, he didn’t really noticed nor care. Sheriff Stilinski was resting on cold white-velvet bed inside his hard white-wood coffin, looking peaceful, nonchalant, and that, Stiles’ only cared about. He could only see how his father didn’t suffer, that it was fast, and he guessed at least the murderer gave his father that kind of out but that didn’t mean he was grateful for it. He was light-years away from that.

 _If I could get another chance_  
Another walk  
Another dance with him

Stiles’ hands clenched and his eyes thoroughly shut. He’ll have his peace of mind, someday, somehow. _When that bastard is dead_ -

“Stiles.” Mrs. McCall wrapped a comforting arm around his lanky shoulders and she has an umbrella with her. He slowly eased his tension and took a final peek at his father’s face. She was clutching the American flag that came with the procession, which Stiles’ gave to her a while ago. “They’re closing the coffin.”

Stiles’ nodded and turned around.

“Stiles!” Mrs. McCall called back to him as he walked out from his father’s funeral. “W-what-?” She quiet down, and Stiles’ didn’t know who shut her up but he was a bit relieved because of it. He knew the towns’ people were following him with their gazes. The parents of his classmates, his classmates, the whole police force, and his own friends looked at him. Most was appalled, a few were unsure what just happened, and a rare few understood or so they thought they did.

Apparently, someone did understand his pain, his bottled anger, and his newly-turned-destroying nature but he was too busy walking away that he didn’t see that person. Or maybe because that sole person was at least 1 mile away from the funeral, exactly standing and peering at him from the mouth of the dim forest.

 

 

***

Stiles stared at the man for a full minute then he choked, “K-killed?” Of course, Stiles knew, he always knew but it was different when for the first time someone actually believed him and was even _sure_ about it. Stiles’ felt the incoming headache before it occurred.

The guy, who looked like he spent half of his life reading Stiles’ body language, ran towards him with a real fluid movement and before Stiles’ knew it, the man’s arms was around him as he sank on his bedroom floor. Stiles’ eyes were wavering, it pained him to even try seeing something but he looked up to the stranger. And as if seeing the question in Stiles’ blinded eyes, the guy answered. “I’ll tell you when you’re more… relaxed.” The promise and sincerity was there, so Stiles let himself to black out in the arms of his informant.

 

 

***

Derek was on the verge on panicking and rejoicing as he looked down on the kid’s peaceful but disturbed face. Of course, he expected this to happen, there was no more subtle way he could’ve have done it, just so he can tell the kid about his father’s death. But also, the kid fainting gave Derek time enough to get a hold of his self. He knew the kid would be loaded with questions when he wakes up, and Derek probably should try at least to keep up on answering even though he lacks on the communication department.

Derek was actually surprised on how Stiles’ handled his father’s death, and it wasn’t good. It made things … difficult but nevertheless still possible.

Sighing, he lifted up Stiles with no trouble and laid him carefully on the bed. He made himself remember the reason why he was going through with this. Despite everything, he and Stiles had something in common now, and it made Derek feel … satisfied.

 

 

***

Stiles grunted as he felt sunshine rays burning spots on his face. He groaned more as he felt his body felt sticky, like he went for a run and just decided to pass out on his bed. Sighing, he shifted and looked at his clock that shown 8:30 am. With a gasp, he threw his bed sheets all over his room, as he scrambled out of the bed. He found a shirt and without thinking, took it as he practically sprinted downstairs.

He was lucky and relieved his father wasn’t shouting for him for being late or worst making breakfast. Stiles skipped every two steps on the stairs and jumped the last four, and with landing a perfect 10, he didn’t waste time scrambling for an excuse as he entered the kitchen.

“Dad!” Stiles shouted, and everything else died in his throat.

Sherriff Stilinski was on the dining table, literally. His body slumped over it as his own blood pooled beneath him. His father’s dead eyes stared at him, as if silently asking for his help but there was nothing he can do.

Stiles gasped as his knees weaken and looking down, he saw that his father’s blood was gushing towards him like a river. Stiles’ choked on his second attempt to shout, the blood still trying to reach him, which made him jump back to strong muscular arms that wrapped around him like vines.

He shouted.

 

 

***

“Mother _fucker_!” Stiles shouted, sitting upright. He was panting and sweating like an Olympic athlete. It wasn’t anywhere near as a compliment.

“No. Not really, no.” The guy from last night replied nonchalant which made Stiles’ yelp. He didn’t think the fucking guy would still be here, fuck, he didn’t even think he would have faint until morning.

Panting for another few second, he took deep breaths to calm breathing. The thudding on chest was a hopeless case though. “We-ell” His voiced cracked, coughing he tried again. “Well, that’s good to know, sir.” His mind catching up to the apparent joke, as he did though, he can’t help but feel a sudden ache. He sounded like his old self for a second there.

The man nodded and stood up. Stiles’ had a mild panic once more before scrambling up the sheets. The man looked like he was about to leave without telling this so-called ‘information’. “Hold up!” He shouted. “Y-you! Tell me now!” Nope. He did not just whine like a 12-year old. No way. Though the way the man turned to look at him and actually smirked-if you call barely visible lift from the side of his mouth-at him.

“You have school.” The man stated, pointing on the wall clock that thankfully was still running.

  
“I know!” Stiles answered, exasperated. Throwing the sheets over, and jumping out of bed. “But I don’t care about school!”

The man… looked surprised. “No?” Then up went those perfectly sculpted brows _. Jesus Christ_ , Stiles thought, _get your head out of the gutter! Perfectly sculpted brows, the fuck is he thinking_ -

“Are you muttering about my eyebrows?” The man asked again. Stiles’ snapped out of his reverie, realizing he was saying it out loud. Stiles shrugged first, hesitating because this guy looked could hurt him if he ever so much say something wrong, before leveling him with his eyes.

“Dude-” he started. Swallowing something thick, “You-you can’t do that.” Gesturing everywhere, “You just can’t say something about my dad’s death and leave me hanging, ok? I _need_ to know because it’s sickening not to know!” He was very sure he was red as a tomato now and close to having a panic attack. “My dad. He didn’t… I need to know.” The last word was barely a whisper as he sunk back to bed.

“I understand.” The guy replied, nodding even. “But do you think you should just disappear for today, while everyone in this town almost is watching you?”

Stiles’ doesn’t have any reply for that, well because it was half-true. Since his father died, he knew he change, all of his classmates know, even the townspeople. It’s funny that you think you barely exist in this town because you’re a loser, but is actually under people’s radar by being the Sheriff’s son. It sucked. He can’t even do some quality grocery shopping time because he gets cock-blocked by a lot of mothers asking how he was doing, is he alright, etc. Stiles’ liked his grocery shopping time in a quiet and peaceful setting, thank you very much.

“And if I ever do tell you know, you won’t be able to concentrate.”

“What do I need to concentrate with?” Stiles’ asked incredulously. The guy is now making no sense, at all.

“With acting normal.” The guy smirked and … well, nailed that one. “I don’t want to come crashing your little façade with everyone.” Stiles’ narrowed his eyes on the guy, not knowing if he wants to punch him or congratulate him. But before he can come with any conclusion, the guy walked to the window, opening it swiftly before giving Stiles’ a side look, “I’ll come for you in the evening.” Then he was gone.

Stiles’ did not made a frustrated whimper. He did not. “Drama man, fuck you, drama.” How did Stiles’ life ever become to this? Seriously.

 

 

***

“-into two and formulate hypothesis in at least 3 paragraphs.” Mr. Harris instructed as he gave out papers. Stiles have been spending a lot of time waking up or understanding people when they were in the middle of their dialogue, so he didn’t raised his hands, like he always did, to make Mr. Harris repeat it for him. Beside, it’ll piss someone like Mr. Harris… OK, just Mr. Harris, but he’s a total asshole, so Stiles can compromise.

A lot of bodies moved at the same time as kids here and there looked for their best-friend or a geek to partner with while Stiles’ stayed on his seat, staring into nothing. He was only snapped into reality when a paper was literally shoved under his nose. Startled, he looked up to Mr. Harris, giving him a so-called deathly glare. “I would prefer if you pay attention to class, Mr. Stilinski, if you do not want to spend your whole afternoon in detention or better, in summer school.” And well, Stiles’ couldn’t have that because he has plans, OK. So he almost jumped at the paper and was already working on it as Mr. Harris moved on to another student to torture. Around finishing the first question, because hey “Describe each lab instruments used in this experiment” is a no brainer, he felt a warm body beside him. Looking sideway, he was met with green eyes and a knowing look from Lydia Martin. Fate couldn’t pick a better time, really. I think she and Karma would be great friends.

He maybe has been staring at Lydia for the few seconds because when Lydia spoke, she said “Waiting for me to dissolve into smoke, Stiles?”

“What!” Stiles did not squeak, please. “No. no. no-Hi Lydia.”

Lydia gave him a don’t-give-me-that-bullshit smile, before settling next to Stiles. In Stiles’ defense, his mind is processing too low to know he was staring at her for the second time, looking as if not understanding the situation. Lydia pulled out her hand, her fingers wriggling, gesturing to the paper that Stiles’ has. Stiles’ gave it to her in a daze. When Lydia had it, she started to glare at the paper as if it was insulting her. “‘Thermometer is used to dictate the current temperature of a sole object or the whole room’ Very middle school.” Lydia sighed, “I expected better from you, Stiles.”

“What…” Apparently Stiles’ genius doesn’t cover girls for him, because he can barely form any words in front of any girls, especially someone like Lydia Martin. “Umm.” _Why is even Lydia Martin talking to him?_ The question halted half-way to Stiles’ brain as he guessed what possible-and only-answer as to why would Lydia talk to him. His insides ran cold. His face took a rapid change and Lydia didn’t missed anything. Stiles’ beat her on saying anything, “I’m not in the mood, Lydia.” His voice even grew colder. “Go bother someone else.”

Lydia, clearly not amused, just narrowed her eyes on Stiles. If people were actually paying attention, they’d notice their pissing contest in front of the classroom.

“Is there something wrong Ms. Martin & Mr. Stilinski?” Mr. Harris’ boomed all the way from across the room which took everyone’s attention, in his ‘teacher’s’ desk, or Stiles would like to call, Interrogation Circle. Seriously, he should have been a detective or something but Stiles’ knew Mr. Harris would not even step inside the police building to save his life because of his father. Stiles’ do not know the details but Mr. Harris _hates_ Sheriff Stilinski’s guts. It’s also a no brainer that he’s the one holding the party at his father’s funeral. Stiles’ sighed because just when he thought he couldn’t hate the guy more-

“That’s very low of you.” Lydia hissed. “If you think I’m here because of your sob fest, well you’ll be just disappointed.”

Stiles gave Lydia a side glance and thought twice about answer something snarky back. Lydia seeing the intention just narrowed her eyes with an angry twitch. He guessed because he-Stiles Stilinski-is the first one ever to call Lydia Martin on her bullshit.

 “Sure, Lydia, the light of my life.” Stiles smiled and gestured to the paper in front of them and he added the sentiment because everyone knows Stiles has some puppy crush on her. He didn’t think that mere thought would save him with his pretending to being ‘okay’ though. “Know what a Newton scale’s for?” He was laying a bait for Lydia, he really didn’t want this conversation between them to wander around _something personal_ than school work.

Lydia only gave him a pointed look as if to say she knew what he was doing before grabbing the paper again. “More than you.” Stiles count that one as a win.

 

 

***

“Where. Were. You. Last. Night?” Laura practically shrieked. It was 9 in the goddamn morning and the woman can’t even have the not-energy to shout at him.

“I was out.” Derek replied calmly. “Can I enter now?” He was standing in front of their apartment in 9 am with Laura shouting. _Oh yeah, the neighbors are going to love this_. “And could you tone it down?” He suggested as he pushed Laura inside and closed the door behind them. “They’re going to call the police on us-again.”

Laura scoffed, still angry. “I don’t fucking care about the cops _little brother_. What I care about and have been asking, is where the fuck were you last night?” She hissed the last part.

Derek crowded her on the counter with a hard glare. “And I answered that I. Was. Out.”

“Where exactly is ‘out’?” She nudged him, hard. Not backing down at all.

“Mind your own business.” Derek said as he pulled back and took of his leather jacket while he walked towards his room.

“Your business is exactly my business if I don’t know what my brother is up to in the middle of the fucking night!” Laura shouted as she followed him. “Derek! Jesus Christ! Isn’t it enough that we’re looked down upon in this forsaken town?”

“I don’t care what they think, Laura.” He reached his door and faced his _loving_ sister. “There’s only one person’s opinion I care about, and that’s not you.” He slammed the door on her face.

 

 

***

The ring of the bell is Stiles’ new favorite sound. It always means he was free from putting up with the assholes at school. It’s funny to him how the turn of his personality changed with the way he thought of people. There was the old him that cared about humans and now? They could just piss off. This new found hatred was really something he liked.

He rounded up his stuff-not that many-and shoved it in his bag with no finesse, which he never had one. He closed his bag, picked it up, and was about to leave the room when someone called him back. “Mr. Stilinski, can I talk to you?”

Stiles halted at the door, just one step to freedom. He muffled a groan and turned towards Mrs. Carter. “Yes, sure.” He walked calmly back to where his teacher was seating. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, Mr. Stilinski. I-I know times are currently hard for you-” _Oh no, here she goes again. Talking about his condition and telling him what he should feel. He wondered if he snapped her neck, she’ll shut up?_ “-but your grades are barely surviving.”

Stiles wanted to sniff, wanted to show her how he could careless but he acted surprised. “Wh-what? I-I studied hard-”

“Of course, I know, I know!” Mrs. Carter cut him off, soothingly. “That’s why I wanted to give you something. A-umm-a special project. Very easy, just so I can really give you a better grade!” _You mean so you can cheat my grade and you won’t feel bad about it because you oh-so gave me a ‘special project’?_

“Tha-thank you!” Stiles made his face show a smile, not glee. He was supposed to be still on a mourning stage. “Really thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Carter looked very pleased with herself. “No problem and all you have to do-”Another minute later, Stiles was walking out of the room. The hallway deserted. The project was something easy as a 5-page essay. Stiles can do triple of that without really exerting effort but he didn’t want to be chained to an essay this evening anyway. So he counts that as another win.

 

 

***

Derek arrived at the old Stilinski’s house around 8 PM. He supposed that he needed to wait for another 2 hours before Stiles appear but when he entered threshold, he heard faint clinks of silverware from the kitchen, and so he warily followed the noise. What he saw was Stiles holding some bottle of beers as he set it on the dining table.

Stiles might have felt him because he looked up on what he was doing and the boy grinned silly. “Well, hello there. I suppose we can talk over drinks.”

Derek made a show of rolling his eyes. Though he doubts the boy can see them, the room was dimly lit because turning the light on might alarm the neighbors since nobody was supposed to be here. “Are you sure you want to do it here?” Derek had to ask.

Stiles stilled for a while before he shrugged. “Dad wouldn’t care.” Stiles sat and gestured at Derek to do as well. “He’s dead either way, besides, I think it’s awfully fitting to do it here, don’t you think?” Stiles smiled in a very mischievous way.

Derek hummed as he walked and sat one of the chairs. “I wouldn’t have thought you to be this…”

“Twisted?” Stiles showed his tongue in a childish way. “I have my moments and this is definitely my moment to shine.” Stiles laughed at his own joke on that one, Derek only stared at him. “No? Tough crowd, geez.”

Derek shook his head in an exasperated way and he took one of the beers. “What do you want to know?”

Stiles looked at him as if he was stupid and the kid snatched a beer. “Everything, you dimwit.” Stiles opened the bottle and forcefully drank from it. “Who killed my father?” He demanded after an angry gulp.

Derek had to raise an eyebrow for that. “First, a question for you.” Derek drank his beer in a calm way.

Stiles looked at him warily and nodded. “Shoot ‘em, Rango.”

Derek snorted and asked, “What would I get in exchange for the information?”

Stiles’ eyes widened at that, the kid looked sideways for a moment as if thinking and turned to look at Derek as if coming up with a solution. Stiles nodded first then said, “Anything you want.” Because if Derek knew, Stiles was thinking he really didn’t have money. He was just a kid, what possible thing could Derek get from someone like him? Derek smiled at Stiles carelessness, he had everything Derek wanted.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song from Dance with my Father by Luther Vandross. If Stiles was here, he'll scoff because that is so not a funeral feel.
> 
> Comments, Suggestion, Violent Reactions are welcome.
> 
> This is a total work of fiction. I do not own the characters. This is unBETA'd, all mistakes are mine.


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